The curtains closed; the death chamber1 vanished.
Reeva hugged Wallis and Wallis hugged Reeva, and they hugged their children. The door to their witness room opened, and a prison official hurried them through it. Two minutes after the announcement of death, Reeva and her family were back in the van, whisked away with an amazing efficiency. After they left, the Drumm family was escorted through a different door, but along the same route.
Robbie and Keith were alone for a few seconds in the witness room. Robbie's eyes were wet, his face pale. He was thoroughly2 defeated, drained, but at the same time looking for someone to fight. "Are you glad you watched it?" he asked.
"No, I am not."
"Neither am I."
At the train station, news of Donte's death was received without a word. They were too stunned3 to speak. In the conference room, they stared at the television, heard the words, but still couldn't believe that the miracle had somehow slipped away. Only three hours earlier, they had been frantically4 working on the Boyette petition and the Gamble petition, two eleventh-hour gifts from above that seemed so hopeful. But the TCCA rejected Boyette and literally5 slammed the door on Gamble.
Now Donte was dead.
Sammie Thomas cried softly in one corner. Carlos and Bonnie stared at the television, as if the story might change to a happier ending. Travis Boyette sat hunched6 over, rubbing his head, while Fred Pryor watched him. They worried about Robbie.
Boyette suddenly stood and said, "I don't understand. What happened? Those people didn't listen to me. I'm telling the truth."
"You're too late, Boyette," Carlos snapped.
"Nine years too late," Sammie said. "You sit on your ass7 for nine years, perfectly8 willing to let someone else serve your time, and then you pop in here with five hours to go and expect everyone to listen to you."
Carlos was walking toward Boyette, pointing a finger. "All we needed was twenty-four hours, Boyette. If you had shown up yesterday, we could've searched for the body. We find the body, there's no execution. There's no execution because they got the wrong guy. They got the wrong guy because they're stupid, but also because you're too much of a coward to come forward. Donte is dead, Boyette, because of you."
Boyette's face turned crimson9 and he reached for his cane10. Fred Pryor, though, was quicker. He grabbed Boyette's hand, looked at Carlos, and said, "Let's cool it. Everybody calm down."
Sammie's cell phone buzzed. She glanced at it and said, "It's Robbie." Carlos turned away and Boyette sat down, with Pryor close by. Sammie listened for a few minutes, then laid down the phone. She wiped a tear and said, "The press got it right for a change. He's dead. He said Donte was strong to the bitter end, proclaimed his innocence11, did so very convincingly. Robbie's leaving the prison now. They'll fly back and be here around 8:00. He would like for us to wait." She paused and wiped her face again.
The National Guardsmen had just fanned out through the streets around Civitan Park in the white section and Washington Park in the black section when the news hit that Donte had been executed. The crowd in Civitan Park had grown steadily12 throughout the afternoon, in both size and volume, and it immediately pressed outward toward the guardsmen. The soldiers were taunted13, cursed, insulted, a few rocks were thrown, but the violence, seething14 just under the surface, was suppressed. It was near dark, and there was little doubt that nighttime would see the situation deteriorate15. In Washington Park, the crowd was older and made up primarily of neighbors. The younger, rowdier ones headed across town, where trouble was more likely.
Homes were locked, vigils commenced on front porches, and weapons were at the ready. The sentries16 stepped up their patrols at every church in Slone.
Ten miles to the south, the mood was much merrier at the cabin. Huddled17 around the television, fresh drinks in hand, they grinned smugly when death was confirmed. Paul Koffee toasted Drew Kerber, then Drew Kerber toasted Paul Koffee. Glasses clinked together. The discomforting hesitation18 they had felt with that Boyette thing was quickly forgotten. At least for the moment.
Justice had finally prevailed.
Warden19 Jeter walked Robbie and Keith back to the front of the prison, shook their hands, said good-bye. Robbie thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Keith wasn't sure if he wanted to thank him or insult him--his last-second approval of Keith as a witness had led to a horrific experience--but he was gracious anyway, as was his nature. When they stepped through the front door, they saw where the noise was coming from. To the right, three blocks away, and on the other side of a wall of police and state troopers, students were yelling and waving homemade banners and placards. They were packed together in the middle of a street that had been cordoned20 off. Beyond them, traffic was backed up. A wave of cars had tried to reach the prison, and when they were blocked, their drivers simply got out and joined the crowd. Operation Detour21 had planned to choke the prison with people and vehicles, and the plan was working. The goal of preventing the execution had not been reached, but Donte's supporters had at least been mobilized, and they had been heard.
Aaron Rey was waiting on the sidewalk, waving Keith and Robbie over. "We've found an escape route," he said. "This place is ready to blow up." They hurried to the minivan and took off. The driver began darting22 through side streets, dodging23 parked cars and angry students. Martha Handler studied Robbie's face, but he did not make eye contact.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
He shook his head no. Keith did the same. Both closed their eyes.
A Huntsville funeral home had the contract. One of its black hearses was inside the Walls Unit, out of sight, and when the last of the witnesses and officials left the death house, it backed to the same gate where the vans had come and gone. A collapsible gurney was pulled out, extended, and rolled inside to the death chamber, where it was wedged tightly next to the bed where Donte lay motionless and unrestrained. The tubes had been removed and recoiled24 into the dark room where the chemist, still unseen, was filling out his paperwork. On the count of three, four guards lifted the corpse25 gently and placed it on the gurney, where it was once again strapped26, but not as tightly this time. A blanket, owned by the funeral home, was tucked over him, and when all was in place, the gurney was rolled back to the hearse. Twenty minutes after the pronouncement of death, the body was leaving the Walls Unit, through a different route, to avoid the protesters and cameras.
At the funeral home, the body was taken to a prep room. Mr. Hubert Lamb and his son Alvin, owners of Lamb & Son Funeral Home, Slone, Texas, were waiting. They would embalm27 the body at their place in Slone, on the same table where they had prepared Riley Drumm five years earlier. But Riley had been an old man of fifty-five when he passed, his body shrunken and decayed, and his death had been anticipated. It could be explained. His son's could not. As men who dealt in death, constantly handling corpses28, the Lambs figured they had seen it all. But they were taken aback by the sight of Donte lying peacefully on the gurney, his face content, his body undisturbed, a young man of twenty-seven. They had known him since he was a boy. They had cheered for him on the football field and, like all of Slone, expected a long, glorious career. They had whispered and gossiped with the rest of the town when he was arrested. They were stunned by the confession30, and quick to believe Donte when he immediately recanted. The Slone police, and Detective Kerber in particular, were not trusted on their side of town. The boy was tricked; they beat a confession out of him, just like in the old days. They watched with frustration31 as he was tried and convicted by a white jury, and after he was sent away, they, like the rest of the town, half expected the girl's body to show up, or maybe even the girl herself.
With the help of two others, they lifted Donte from the gurney and gently placed him in a handsome oak casket selected by his mother on Monday. Roberta had paid a small deposit--she had burial insurance--and the Lambs were quick to agree to a full refund32 if the casket became unnecessary. They would have happily forgone33 the use of it. They had prayed they would not be where they were at that moment--collecting the body, then driving it home, then preparing for a painful wake, memorial, and funeral.
The four men wrestled34 the casket into the Lamb & Son hearse, and at 7:02 Donte left Huntsville and headed home.
The Fordyce--Hitting Hard! set was in a small "ballroom36" in a cheap chain motel on the fringe of Huntsville. Reeva and Wallis were perched on director's chairs and made up for the cameras while Sean Fordyce stomped37 around in his usual manic mode. He'd just "jetted" in from an execution in Florida, barely made it to Huntsville, but so glad he did because the Nicole Yarber case had become one of his best ever. In preliminary chitchat, as the technicians worked frantically on the sound, the lighting38, the makeup39, the script, Fordyce realized that Reeva had not yet heard about the appearance of Travis Boyette. She had been inside the prison, preparing for the big event, when the story broke. Instinctively40, he decided41 not to tell her. He would save it for later.
The post-execution interview was the most dramatic segment of his show. Catch 'em just minutes after they've watched the bastard42 die and they might say anything. He snapped at a technician, cursed a cameraman, yelled that he was ready to go. A final dusting of powder on his forehead, then an instant change of demeanor43 as he looked at the camera, smiled, and became a man of great compassion44. With tape running, he explained where he was, gave the time, the hour, the gravity of the moment, then he walked to Reeva and said, "Reeva, it's over. Tell us what you saw."
Reeva, a Kleenex in each hand--she'd gone through a box since lunch--dabbed her eyes and said, "I saw him, for the first time in eight years, I saw the man who killed my baby. I looked him in the eyes, but he would not look at me." Her voice was strong, no breakdown45 yet.
"What did he say?"
"He said he was sorry, and I appreciate that."
Fordyce leaned in closer, frowning. "Did he say he was sorry for killing46 Nicole?"
"Something like that," she said, but Wallis shook his head and glanced at his wife.
"You disagree, Mr. Pike?"
"He said he was sorry for what happened, not sorry for anything he did," Wallis grunted47.
"Are you sure?" Reeva fired back at her husband.
"I'm sure."
"That's not what I heard."
"Tell us about the execution, the dying," Fordyce pleaded.
Reeva, still pissed at Wallis, shook her head and wiped her nose with a Kleenex. "It was much too easy. He just went to sleep. When they opened the curtains, he was already on the little bed in there, all strapped down, looking very much at peace. He made his last statement, then he closed his eyes. We couldn't tell anything, nothing, no sign that the drugs had been administered, nothing. He just went to sleep."
"And you were thinking about Nicole and how horrible her death must have been?"
"Oh, God, yes, exactly, my poor baby. She suffered greatly. Just terrible ..." Her voice choked and the camera zoomed48 even closer.
"Did you want him to suffer?" Fordyce asked, prodding49, prompting.
She nodded vigorously, her eyes closed. Fordyce asked Wallis, "What changes now, Mr. Pike? What does this mean for your family?"
Wallis thought for a second, and while he was thinking, Reeva blurted51, "It means a lot, knowing he's dead, knowing he's been punished. I think I'll sleep better at night."
"Did he claim to be innocent?"
"Oh yes," Reeva said, the tears gone for the moment. "Same old stuff we've been hearing for years. 'I'm an innocent man!' Well, now he's a dead man, that's all I can say."
"Have you ever thought that he might be innocent, that someone else might have killed Nicole?"
"No, not for a minute. The monster confessed."
Fordyce pulled back a little. "Have you heard of a man named Travis Boyette?"
A blank face. "Who?"
"Travis Boyette. At 5:30 this afternoon, he went on television in Slone and claimed to be the killer52."
"Nonsense."
"Here's the tape," Fordyce said, pointing to a twenty-inch screen off to the right. On cue, the video of Travis Boyette appeared. The volume was high; the rest of the set was perfectly still. As he talked, Reeva watched closely, frowning, almost smirking53, then shaking her head no. An idiot, a fraud. She knew who the killer was. But when Boyette pulled out the class ring, shoved it at the cameras, and said he had kept it for nine years, Reeva's face turned pale, her jaw54 dropped, her shoulders slumped55.
Sean Fordyce may have been a noisy proponent56 of the death penalty, but like most cable screamers he never let ideology57 get in the way of a sensational58 story. The possibility that the wrong man had just been executed would undoubtedly59 strike a blow against capital punishment, but Fordyce couldn't have cared less. He was smack60 in the middle of the hour's hottest story--number two on CNN's home page--and he planned to make the most of it.
And he saw nothing wrong with ambushing61 his own guest. He'd done it before, and he would do it again if it produced great drama.
Boyette vanished from the screen.
"Did you see the ring, Reeva?" Fordyce boomed.
Reeva looked as though she'd seen a ghost. Then she collected herself and remembered that everything was being filmed. "Yes," she managed to say.
"And is it Nicole's?"
"Oh, there's no way to tell. Who is this guy and where did he come from?"
"He's a serial62 rapist with a rap sheet a mile long, that's who he is."
"Well, there. Who can believe him?"
"So you don't, Reeva?"
"Of course not." But the tears were gone, as was the spunk63. Reeva appeared confused, disoriented, and very tired. As Fordyce moved in for another question, she said, "Sean, it's been a long day. We're going home."
"Yes, sure, Reeva, just one more question. Now that you've seen an execution, do you think they should be televised?"
Reeva yanked the mike off her jacket and bounced to her feet. "Come on, Wallis. I'm tired."
The interview was over. Reeva, Wallis, and their two children walked out of the motel with Brother Ronnie behind them. They piled into the church van and headed for Slone.
At the airport, Keith called Dana with the latest update on his little road trip. He was free-falling now, with no idea where he was going and not sure where he'd been. When he explained, gently, that he had just witnessed the execution, she was speechless. So was he. The conversation was brief. She asked if he was okay, and he replied that he definitely was not.
The King Air lifted off at 7:05 and was soon in heavy clouds. The plane dipped and lurched, much like an old truck on a bumpy64 road. "Moderate turbulence65" the pilot had called it as they boarded. With the noise of the engines, the sense of being tossed about, and the mind-bending blur50 of images from the past two hours, Keith found it easy to close his eyes and withdraw into his own little cocoon66.
Robbie was withdrawn67 too. He sat forward, elbows on knees, chin in hand, eyes closed, deep in thought and painful memories. Martha Handler wanted to talk, to take notes, to capture the moment fully29, but there was no one to interview. Aaron Rey stared nervously68 out the window, as if waiting for a wing to break off.
At five thousand feet, the ride smoothed somewhat and the cabin noise died down. Robbie reclined in his seat and smiled at Martha. "What were his last words?" she asked.
"He loves his momma and he's an innocent man."
"Is that all?"
"That's enough. There's a Web site for the Texas death row, an official one, and they post all of the last statements. Donte's will be up by noon tomorrow. It was beautiful. He called 'em by name, the bad guys--Kerber, Koffee, Judge Grale, the governor. Beautiful, just beautiful."
"So he went down fighting?"
"He was not able to fight, but he did not give an inch."
The car was an old Buick owned by an old widow, Ms. Nadine Snyderwine, and it was parked beside her modest home on a concrete pad, under a willow69 oak. She drove it three times a week, max, and with her failing eyesight she knew her driving days were numbered. Ms. Snyderwine had never worked outside the home, never met a lot of people, and certainly never provoked anyone. Her car was chosen because it was accessible and, more important, because it was parked on a quiet, dark street in a very white part of town. The Buick was unlocked, not that a lock would have mattered. The driver's door was opened, a Molotov cocktail70 was lit and tossed inside, and the arsonists71 disappeared into the night without a trace. A neighbor saw flames, and the 911 call was recorded at 7:28.
If there was a chance that the old Buick's wiring shorted, that the car somehow ignited on its own, such thoughts were dashed when the second 911 call came at 7:36. Another car was on fire, a Volvo wagon72 parked on a street halfway73 between the courthouse and Civitan Park. Fire trucks screamed back and forth74 across town, with police escorts clearing the way. The sirens were applauded by the mob at the park, a mob that was growing larger as the night grew later. But aside from underage drinking and possession of pot, no crimes were being committed. Yet. Perhaps disturbing the peace, but given the tension of the moment, the police were not inclined to enter the park and break up the fun. The crowd was in a belligerent75 mood, fueled by the news of Donte's death, the statements of Travis Boyette, the angry rap blasting from car stereos, and some drugs and alcohol.
The police watched and pondered their options. They huddled with the National Guardsmen and plotted strategy. The wrong move could provoke a response that was unpredictable, primarily because the crowd had no real leader at that point and had no idea where the night would lead it. Every half hour or so, some clown lit a string of firecrackers, and for a split second the policemen and guardsmen froze and strained to tell if the noise was gunfire. So far, only firecrackers.
The third call was recorded at 7:40, and it was the most ominous76 so far. In fact, when the police chief got the details, he thought about leaving town himself. At Big Louie's honky-tonk west of town, the gravel77 parking lot was packed as usual for a Thursday night, the unofficial beginning of the weekend. To kick things off, Louie offered a variety of drink specials, all involving reduced prices, and the Bubbas responded with enthusiasm. Of the vehicles parked outside the cheap metal building, virtually all were pickup78 trucks, an even split between Ford35 and Chevrolet. The arsonists picked one of each, broke the windows, tossed the cocktails79, and disappeared into the darkness. A latecomer, in a pickup, thought he saw a "coupla black boys" running away, crouching80 low, very suspicious. But he wasn't close and didn't see their faces. In fact, he wasn't even sure they were black.
When the Bubbas stampeded outside and saw flames roaring out of both trucks, they scrambled81 for their own. A melee82 ensued, a near demolition83 derby, as they frantically tried to get away from the fires. Many of them left, evidently no longer thirsty and anxious to get home, lock the doors, get the guns loaded. Every pickup at Big Louie's had at least one gun under the seat or in the glove box. Many had hunting rifles in the window racks.
It was the wrong crowd to start a fight with. You burn a man's pickup, and he's ready for war.
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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deteriorate
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| v.变坏；恶化；退化 | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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cordoned
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| v.封锁，用警戒线围住( cordon的过去式 ) | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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embalm
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| v.保存（尸体）不腐 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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refund
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| v.退还，偿还；n.归还，偿还额，退款 | |
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forgone
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| v.没有也行，放弃( forgo的过去分词 ) | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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stomped
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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zoomed
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| v.（飞机、汽车等）急速移动( zoom的过去式 )；（价格、费用等）急升，猛涨 | |
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prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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51
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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proponent
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| n.建议者；支持者；adj.建议的 | |
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ideology
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| n.意识形态，(政治或社会的)思想意识 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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ambushing
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| v.埋伏( ambush的现在分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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spunk
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| n.勇气，胆量 | |
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bumpy
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| adj.颠簸不平的，崎岖的 | |
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turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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cocoon
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| n.茧 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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arsonists
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| n.纵火犯( arsonist的名词复数 ) | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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